


Dating the Town

by Batsutousai



Series: Holiday Card Ficlets 2018 [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 13:03:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: It isn't that Harry doesn't want to go on a date with Tom, it's that he wants to go on a date withonlyTom.





	Dating the Town

**Author's Note:**

> Every winter season, I send out cards to anyone willing to give me their address, and I decided three winters ago to start adding fic to the cards. This year's prompt was coffeeshop.
> 
> This ficlet was inspired by _Abandon_.

"No," Harry said as soon as Tom opened his mouth. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to go out with his...whatever they were (boyfriends? lovers? best-friends-with-benefits? Tom hated labelling everything they meant to each other, and Harry didn't honestly care enough to fight him about it, but it did make it hard to know how to refer to their relationship, especially now they were dating), because he _did_. Spending time with Tom had always been his favourite thing to do, and was becoming all the more precious, now Tom was looking into ways to take over magical Great Britain. (Minister for Magic was his preference, and Harry's, if he was being honest, but after Dumbledore's defeat of Grindelwald and his immediate rise of political importance, on top of his long-held and completely inexplicable – okay, not _that_ inexplicable – distrust of Tom and Harry both, they were willing to settle for Tom taking Grindelwald's place as terror of the magical world.)

The thing was, Tom's idea of a date tended to be either a meal out at one of those high-end, exclusive restaurants, where you needed either a lot of money or some impressive connections to get in the front door, or a very public little sit-down at one of the better patronised pubs or tea shops, preferably with outside seating, so anyone passing by might see them out and Tom could talk to them about politics. Which, really, Harry fully supported Tom in his endeavours to lead the magical world into a better future, he really did, but it got a little exhausting, some days, how completely it had taken over their lives.

Tom closed his eyes and relaxed back against his chair in that particular way he had, the one that looked far too regal. (Harry was probably the only person who knew exactly how much practice Tom had put into making that move look as casual and easy as it did.) "If you don't want to go out any more, I'm hardly going to _force_ you," he said in that mild tone that Harry knew meant the words hurt to say.

He clenched his hands into fists under the cover of the table. "It's not that I don't want to go out with you, you _idiot_ ," he snapped, and Tom frowned at him, a hint of confusion in the furrow of his brow. "It's that I don't want to go out with _everyone else_."

Tom had always been something of a master of doublespeak. Which had often-times served as something of a source of aggravation for Harry, especially when Tom would say one thing and expect him to divine his _other_ meaning without him having to spell it out.

But, in a moment like now, when Harry couldn't quite bring himself to say the full truth aloud, he appreciated Tom's mastery of doublespeak. Because he blinked, and then the faint hints of confusion and hurt vanished from his face and eyes and he said, "Ah."

Harry looked down at the remains of breakfast on his plate. "Moron," he muttered, and couldn't say which of them he'd aimed it at. (Probably a little bit both of them, honestly.)

Tom let out a loud, graceless snort, and Harry couldn't stop from shooting him a surprised look; he hadn't heard that noise from him since early on in their first year, before Tom did his best to leave their orphan, muggle roots well behind himself. (Harry's own placement in Gryffindor, while making it harder to avoid Dumbledore, had made it easier for him to continue to be himself; down in Slytherin, Tom had needed to change himself to survive, especially once he'd discovered his relation to one of the school's founders.)

Tom offered him a slightly wry smile, one that was far more honest and fond than anyone else in the whole of the world would likely ever see. "We could just do something in," he offered.

Harry huffed, because the original intention behind their twice a week dates out, had been to get them out of the flat – they were, both of them, prone to getting lost in books or projects for days on end – and let them share a meal without either of them bringing their work along with. Which, yes, Tom making a bid for a leadership position had sort of twisted that last bit, but it had mostly been intended as a way to keep them from bringing books or papers with them to look over as they ate; discussion of events in their workplaces had always been something of a regular occurrence.

"How about..." Harry sighed and shook his head, certain he knew Tom's response to the suggestion he'd been about to make.

Tom tilted his head to the side. "How about what?"

"Some place muggle?" he forced himself to say, ducking his head down so he didn't have to see Tom's expression.

Tom was quiet for a moment that seemed to go on forever. But then he cleared his throat and said, "That is..."

When he didn't continue, Harry told his plate, "A terrible idea, I know."

Tom sighed. "I wasn't going to say that.

Harry shot him a flat look.

Tom's mouth twisted, caught somewhere between a grimace and that helpless 'you caught me' smile that he only ever showed Harry. "It's not my...preference," he allowed, the carefulness of his voice belying the easing of his usual masks. "However, I do understand your..."

"Concerns?" Harry suggested when it seemed as though Tom was struggling with what word to use. "I understand that you hate them, and you know I'm the same. What happened to us–" He shook his head, unwilling to speak any further of their pre-Hogwarts childhood; children, magical or muggle, could both be so very cruel, but the horrors that adult muggles with war in their hearts could commit were...so much worse. And far more likely to involve and destroy the lives of the innocent.

Tom reached a hand across the table, and Harry met it without thinking about it, their fingers folding comfortably together after nearly two decades of leaning on and reaching for each other. "I assume you know of some place," Tom commented, his voice quiet and still just a little bit careful, like he was afraid he might say something to make Harry pull away.

As if Harry would _ever_ pull away from him.

"I...yes, actually," Harry realised, recalling a little coffee shop one of his former dormmates liked to patronise; he figured that even Tom could manage to deal with muggles for long enough to get a cup of coffee or tea and drink it. "Meet at the Leaky after work? We can go out, do coffee, then maybe have the rest of the night in?"

Something about Tom relaxed, just a bit, and his smile was small, but no less fond than the earlier one. "I believe that's doable," he agreed, before a dark, teasing sort of humour twisted his lips and sparked in his eyes. "Assuming you don't get caught up–"

" _Once_ ," Harry interrupted, rolling his eyes and squeezing Tom's hand in his. "Are you _ever_ going to let that go?"

Tom laughed, quiet and familiar, and admitted, "Unlikely."

Honestly? Harry was okay with that.

.


End file.
